It was unusual to hear from Kathy. It had been a long time, and now she wanted to meet for drinks. I’ve always liked her, and we always had lots of fun with girl talk. Our telephone calls used to run into the hours. I think our record telephone call was six hours long. It ended when my phone’s battery died.

So, I went to meet her at a bar in the East Village. It was one that we both like. It’s one of the rare bars in New York that is still quiet enough so that two girls can hear each other talk. I got there on time and quickly found Kathy, sitting there with half a glass of white wine already gone.

The bar is dark, but not too dark. On Second Avenue, below 14th Street, it’s one of the many bars you could walk right by and not notice. The furniture is lousy, the place looks dirty, and frankly it is simply not appealing at all. It’s a dive. But the bartender and the waitresses are charming, and are simply the best in New York. People like Kathy and me have come to realize that, and so it has a devoted clientele. Count us as two of them.

“I have some catching up to do, I see,” I said as I flagged the waitress.

“You surely do, Gail. I’ve been here a while and this is my third glass.”

“We said seven o’clock, didn’t we?” I asked.

“Yes, I simply came early,” Kathy had an edge to her voice.

“What’s wrong, Kathy? Something is up. Spill.” I ordered a glass of wine.

“Let’s have fun talking first - you know, like old times?” Kathy countered.

And we did. God, it was fun to chat with her again. A lot has happened since we last caught up. After a while she said, “But enough about me! What is going on with you?”

“Not much,” I said. “I’m still gainfully employed and barely able to pay my astronomical rent, and I still have enough left for instant ramen, so I don’t starve, except of course near the end of the month. And as for men, and I know that’s what you’re interested in, I guess you could say I’m between marriages.”

“Are you engaged then? Someone new?” she asked.

“No. That was an attempt at humor. I have nobody. Nada. Niente. I’m all alone, sniff. But I like it. For now at least, I’m off men. I find that a vibrator, a dildo, and booze make good substitutes, and they come without all the melodrama,” I said. “Not to mention all those messy fluids men bring to the table.”

We had been gabbing for around 45 minutes at this point, and Kathy had not yet told me the favor she was to ask of me. She had told me she had a favor to ask when she asked to meet me at “our” East Village bar. It must be a doozy if she needed three glasses of wine for courage.

I usually let things proceed at Kathy’s pace, but I was getting anxious about the purported “favor.” What could possibly need three glasses of wine for liquid courage? So I asked, “Kathy, you said you had a favor to ask?”

“Yes, yes I do,” she said. “Let me explain.” Then she stopped talking.

I waited. Nothing happened. Finally, I started it up by saying, “Yes, Kathy, please do explain. Take your time,” and I flagged a waitress to order another round of wine. I was getting tipsy, so I ordered some munchies to soak up some of the wine sloshing around in my tummy.

“Well it’s like this. I have a weird kind of job hosting a poker game of six men. I play waitress and I bring them drinks and munchies while they play. I am well paid for the work,” Kathy blushed as she spoke.

“That sounds simple enough. But there’s a catch, isn’t there? I can tell by your body language,” I said.

“Well, yes, yes there is. You see, it’s late at night, and I am one woman and they are six men. Some leering and politically incorrect comments are standard. You know how men behave in such situations,” Kathy said, blushing furiously.

“Kathy, are you selling yourself?” I asked, rather bluntly.

“Good heavens, no! It’s not like that. Not at all. Well, maybe a little, depending on how you look at it. Maybe I am in fact, now that you mention it. I am so ashamed. The men’s ages range from around 25 to 35, and as you know I’m 24. They tip me, and naturally enough they tip me better if I dress in a sexy manner, you know? You worked as a cocktail waitress once, you know how the world works, right?”

“That I do, that I do. As a cocktail waitress, I find that the customers are the cocks, and I’m the piece of tail,” I said. “Cleavage and long, bare legs really helps in the waitress trade, at least in cocktail bars like the one I worked in. I feel as if I have been leered at from here to Kansas and back, you know?”

“Did you adjust your attire with tips in mind?” Kathy asked.

“Of course. All the girls did. Super short skirts and low cut blouses. Some of the men would run their hands along my legs while I stood there taking their orders. They looked down my blouse when I would lean in to put their food and drinks down. You give them something to look at, and you develop a thick skin,” I said.

“You’ve never been shy about your body, if I remember right,” Kathy said delicately. She knew damn well I have exhibitionist tendencies.

“I’ll cut to the chase. You want me to spell you with the card game, and you figure because I’m an exhibitionist, if I show some skin I’ll get some good tips, am I right?” I said. I’m not usually direct, but Kathy was having so much trouble speaking her mind, I felt the need to help her.

“Yes, exactly. Thank you for helping me to get it out, Gail. You’re a doll. Could you do it for me?” Kathy said. She still looked troubled, though.

“Sure. I could use the money,” I said. “Boy, could I use the money! I can already smell my steak dinner I’ll buy myself once I have the money in hand. When and where?”

Kathy told me, but she still looked ill at ease. “There’s something else you are struggling to tell me, isn’t there?” I said.

Kathy began to cry. “Oh Gail, you need to be strong. Those men turned me into a slut. It’s my fault. I’m so weak. But you’re not. You’re strong. I’ve always admired your strength,” Gail said, trying to suppress her tears.

“What happened?” I asked, in all simplicity.

“I got addicted to the money they paid me, I guess. The more provocative my attire, the more money I received. Towards the end I was wearing very little. They began to take liberties, too. It began small with pats on my ass, and then it gradually progressed to hands on my legs. Next the hands moved up my legs. Eventually they convinced me to go topless.”

“Last time I ended up serving them wearing just my panties,” Kathy continued. She put her head in her hands.

“Let me guess,” I said. My tone of voice was kind. “At some point late in the evening the panties were gone too, and you were serving them naked.”

Kathy nodded, but I sensed something. “There’s even more, isn’t there?” I asked.

Kathy nodded. “Blowjobs?” I asked. Kathy nodded. “Something else, too?” I asked. Kathy nodded again. Her face was completely hidden in her hands. “How many of them fucked you, Kathy? One?” She nodded. “Two?” She nodded again. “Three?” Again she nodded. “All six of them?”

“Oh my God, Gail, yes,” she said. “And the biggest horror is that I enjoyed it. Each and every time,” and now she was sobbing loudly. The waitress came over and asked if she could help. I think she thought we were lesbians and that I was dumping Kathy right there in the bar. But who knows what she thought?

That’s what I would have thought when I was waitressing. But that was in the West Village. Now we were in the East Village. Anyway, usually, it’s right.

“Maybe some Kleenex would be nice?” I said. The waitress shot me a disapproving look and left, returning quickly with Kleenex. I whispered to the waitress, “It’s a case of gangbang regret,” and the waitress looked horrified and left our table quickly.

When Kathy had calmed down somewhat, she spoke again, and she said, “You can see why I can’t go back there. Last time they paid me $6,000, but that was because they were paying me for sexual services rendered. Gail, they turned me, a sweet girl trying to get by, into a goddamn whore. I can’t go back there. I can’t!”

“What’s the problem?” I asked Kathy. “Don’t go back. Nobody can force you to work. Especially not at a job like that!”

“One of the men is my boyfriend Neil. They’re counting on me. I don’t know what to do! I am hoping you can go in my place this one time. I need to think,” Kathy said. She was crying again.

I wanted to tell her to get a new boyfriend. But that is one of the things that is useless for one girl to tell another.

“You’re strong, Gail, and you’ll just be starting. Please can you do this for me just this one time? And you’ll make some money, too. If you dress sexy, my guess is with your looks and your body you could clear $500 for just a few hours of work. And it’s easy work, too, if you do not mind the occasional fresh hand or two,” Kathy was close to begging now.

I stayed with Kathy for another two hours at the bar. We ordered dinner. She treated, already dipping into her $6,000 earned on her back, I imagine. I agreed to spell her this one time.

I did not tell Kathy this, but I was intrigued. I am an exhibitionist, but as Kathy kept saying, I have a strong will, and nobody was going to abuse me the way they did poor Kathy.

I did have a serious weakness, however. I am a submissive as well as an exhibitionist, and I had to hope none of the men could dominate me. That could be a disaster. The submissive angle was my secret, as well as my Achilles heel.

Kathy did not suspect it; nobody suspected it. My ex-husband Mike Phelps was the only one who knew. He knew I was a submissive even before I myself knew. He was uncanny that way. But as long as nobody at the card game could ferret it out the way Mike had, I would be safe.

That is why I actually had to leave Mike. It’s why I divorced him. He not only wanted to show off my body to every man he could, he also wanted to watch me get laid by them, too. He turned me into a flaming slut, and that was not my dream as to how I would turn out when married to the man I loved. I had to leave Mike in order to save myself. He had led me down the rabbit hole, and I barely escaped before I was hopelessly hooked.

Men like Mike were rare. I was not too worried about the card game. My work as a waitress at a cocktail bar in a hotel had hardened me. I knew how to handle sexual predators. I knew how to shut them down. I was confident.

When the day came for the card game, Kathy came over to help me to choose what to wear. “You want layers,” she said, “In case you want to remove something to goose the tips, it’s good to have some redundant layers.”

We ended up with a V neck sweater worn over a diaphanous see-through blouse with a lace bra, and a very tight soft leather skirt. Under the skirt I did not wear a thong, but rather traditional skimpy lace panties. The panties matched my bra. I am a strong believer in matching underwear.

For jewelry, I wore large dangle silver earrings, and a large silver cross that fell in between my boobs; if ever my sweater and then my blouse came off, the cross would look stunning in between my bra encased boobs. For perfume, we chose Opium by Yves St Laurent. No man on earth can resist Opium, the ultimate seductive scent.

I also wore thigh high stockings and my ‘come fuck me’ stiletto high heels, in red patent leather. Even though they were bright red, they meshed well with my supple black leather very tight skirt.

I stepped back to look at myself in my full-length mirror once the entire outfit was on. Kathy let out a low whistle. “Gail, you are dynamite,” she said. “If I were a lesbian I would not let you out of this apartment; I would take you right now.”

“Weren’t you a lesbian in college?” I asked, remembering well those days. She and I had even gotten it on once, when I was drunk and into sexual experimentation. It did not stick with me, but it sure did with Kathy. At least it stuck for a while, that is.

As for me, it remains one of my most erotic memories, even if I have no desire to repeat it.

“Yeah,” she said. “But now I’m into men. I’m a hasbian.”

Kathy walked me over to the brownstone in the East Village. It was in the far east village, in alphabet city, not too far from Tompkins Square. The card game was on the top floor of a walkup brownstone. We said goodbye, and she wished me luck. I promised to call her to let her know how it turned out.

I rang the buzzer and someone buzzed me in. Kathy had coached me on the names of the men: Neil (her boyfriend), Steve, Bill, Byron, Craig, and Mike. Byron was the leader, and he was the one who had the apartment. Even though he lived a simple life, renting one floor of a brownstone, Byron was a banker and was as rich as Croesus. I climbed the three flights up to the top floor, and the door to the apartment was open.

The men were already playing cards, but they stopped their game to welcome me. They introduced themselves, and their comportment was one of perfect gentlemen. One of the men was missing, the one named Mike. He was delayed, and would come later, I was told. There was also a sexy little blonde there, pouting on the couch. She was Melissa. She looked to be only around 19 or 20 years old. Maybe she was 21, at the outside.

Kathy had told me I was to be the only woman, but I welcomed the presence of another. I felt it made things less risky. Neil got up and went over to Melissa. He said, “Kathy came through with a substitute, so Melissa you can go home now.” He handed her a $100 bill. “Thanks for coming, however.”

Melissa took the money and then gave Neil a kiss. It was not a casual kiss. It was the type of kiss a girl gives a man she has already known carnally. Neil was Kathy’s boyfriend, and he helped to manipulate her into getting gangbanged, and now I inferred that he was cheating on her with this little tart Melissa. He was a piece of work. I took an instant dislike to Neil.

Probably all five of the men there were jerks. My Sunday school training kicked in: Judge not, lest I be judged. Fuck that. Neil was a pig. Byron stood and said, “Gail, make yourself comfortable. When you’re ready, I think some of us have drinks that need refreshing.”

The apartment was overheated, so I removed my sweater, dramatically revealing my diaphanous blouse, and my lacy bra that one could clearly see underneath it. Byron smiled broadly. “That’s the spirit,” he said.

I went to the table and took their orders. I was in my element from my previous life as a cocktail waitress. At times, I had subbed as a bartender, too, so both I did not need notes and also I was not fazed when men ordered cocktails with esoteric names like The Logan 5.

I found the kitchen. It was not hard; the apartment had only three rooms and a bathroom. In the kitchen, I was taken aback: There was a full-page color print of Kathy, naked and on all fours, giving Craig a blowjob while at the same time Byron was fucking her from behind.

The photo must have been taken the previous week. Poor girl; I’m sure she had no idea such a photo had even been taken, let alone subsequently so prominently displayed in Byron’s apartment. I instantly took a dislike to Byron, adding to my dislike of Kathy’s boyfriend Neil, who was cheating on her with Melissa.

That left Bill, Craig, and Steve, for whom the jury was still out. Barely. And oh yes, the mysterious missing man Mike who had not arrived yet. I did not have high hopes for any of them. But I try never to pre-judge people, nor damn people via guilt by association. I kept an open mind.

The kitchen was well equipped. It had a good supply of vegetables for cocktails (celery, fresh mint, carrots, tomato juice, Worcestershire, etc.). Byron had a blender, a few whisks of varying sizes, and a shaker. He had elegant crystal glasses, and beer mugs chilling in the freezer. The man was prepared. In a corner, there were two things that did not fit: I looked over askance at a cockroach trap, and quite a large stack of high-end condoms.

There was a silver tray. It came from the high-end French store Christofle. I was impressed. (I have a wedding gift from a rich aunt that came from Christofle. I’m divorced from my ex-husband Mike now, but I still have the gift.) I put the drinks on the tray and walked out to the table. The men paid me no mind as I placed the drinks in front of them. So far so good.

Craig said, “Darling, I am having a bad luck streak. Come stand next to me. Maybe you’ll bring me luck.”

“My name is Gail,” I said as I moved over to stand near Craig.

“That’s great, darling. I’m Craig. Nice to meet you.” I stood next to him. He won the next hand. “Hey thanks, Babe. You’re good,” he said.

“My name is Gail,” I said again.

“Good to know, darling. Hey, don’t leave. You’re bringing me luck,” Craig said as I began to walk away. I went back and stood next to him. Craig was on one side of me, and Bill was on the other. Bill’s hand went to my thigh as I stood there. I gently touched his hand to move it off my thigh, but Bill was stubborn and used his strength to keep it there.

Even though my legs were together and my knees were touching, Bill wormed his hand in between them, and I had little choice but to widen my stand, When I moved my legs apart, Bill tapped my ass. Apparently, this was his Neanderthal way of saying thanks. I shrugged and smiled at him. It was too early to make a scene.

I knew I’d have to stand there until Craig started losing. He was having an extraordinary streak of good luck. Craig’s hand went to my other thigh, the one near to him. Both hands gradually moved up my legs as I stood there, and before long they were under my skirt, heading to my panties. They had already found the bare skin above my thigh highs.

Byron saved me. “Hey Gail, can I tear you away from Craig long enough to get me a mojito?” I was grateful. Also, I make a dynamite mojito. It’s all about the fresh mint, and how you crush it to release the oils and with them the flavor. Byron added, “Feel free to make yourself a drink, too. It’s hot in here.” I nodded a thank you.

New York apartments are usually hot in the winter. Landlords supply the heat, and the cost is built into the rent. Typically, it’s steam heat with radiators, and that kind of heat is notoriously hard to fine tune. Apartments are either hot, or freezing. If they’re too hot, you can always open a window. If they’re freezing, all you can do is complain about your landlord. I opened a window in the kitchen. Nobody was going in there but me, anyway.

I made myself a Brandy Alexander, using Byron’s top shelf brandy. I returned with my mojito and the Brandy Alexander on my tray. A Brandy Alexander is considered a ‘woman’s drink’ and no self-respecting macho mam would ever order one in a bar. More’s the pity for the men, because they’re delicious.

Perhaps Steve did not know it’s a woman’s drink, because when he saw it on the tray, he asked if he could have it. I gave it to him. After that, I amused myself by making all sorts of cocktails on speculation, and every single time one of the men asked for it. So I had nothing to drink, but I was fine with that.

Well, truth be told, I tasted every cocktail before bringing it out, and after a while I had a nice buzz going. The men kept wanting me to stand near them to bring them luck, or that’s what they said. The other theory is that they wanted to feel me up. I did seem to bring them luck, and they had quite a bit of success at feeling me up, too.

At first I stood with my legs together. M y knees became the best of friends. But each and every time, the men would gently push my legs apart, going for the expensive real estate of my inner thighs, above my thigh highs and close to my love box. I always let them do this. I got nice tips for my behavior, and that was my goal.

After a while, their hands on my legs began to reach my panties, and soon their fingers were beginning to play with my pussy, through my skimpy lace panties. I was getting very wet. I retreated to my sanctuary of the kitchen to calm down, and Byron followed me in.

“You’re doing a great job, Gail. Thank you for filling in for Kathy,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. I nodded to the picture on the fridge door of Byron nailing Kathy doggie style while she blew Craig, and I said, “It appears you enjoyed filling in Kathy last week.”

Byron laughed and said, “Meow.”

I said, “I’m not Kathy.”

Byron replied, “I know of course. Last week was kind of special. We all got a little carried away. It had something to do with Neil and Kathy. You know how that can be.” Byron paused, thoughtful. He added, “I’m sorry it’s so warm in here. The boys, myself included, would really enjoy it if you would remove your blouse for the rest of the evening? It would help to distract the men when they’re losing. And with card games, someone is always losing of course. If you do, we’ll increase our tips by $500. It’s obviously strictly optional, and your decision to make.”

Had Kathy not prepared me, I would have been outraged by such a proposal. But she had prepared me, and I had been expecting it. I told Byron I would consider it. He said thanks, and he left.

Alone in the kitchen, I thought about it. The men could already see my bra through my diaphanous blouse, although the blouse did obscure the view a little. I could really use the $500, too. Life in New York is so expensive! I could cook myself a steak dinner; it would be good for my health to have some protein.

On the other hand, it would make me look cheap and tawdry, and no self-respecting girl would do such a thing, especially in such a situation. But I was already acting cheap and slutty by letting the men feel me up all the way up my legs to my pussy.

Who was I kidding? I was doing that for the tips, and after each pussy feel, the men would toss $20 into the tip jar; this was not lost on me. There must have been over $200 in the tip jar already. Removing my blouse would raise the total to $700. Nice.

I began to fantasize how to spend the money, standing there alone in the kitchen. In my mind, I had already spent the money. Shit, I knew I had to do this. The extra $500 was irresistible.

Byron called me back in. Somebody needed me to stand next to them, as he was losing badly. I removed my blouse and went back in. Byron whistled as I entered, and all the men turned to look at me, and I got more wolf whistles, cheers, and general applause. I am deeply ashamed, but I was charmed. I bowed to accept my applause, and then I went to stand next to Steve, the man who was losing badly. His luck turned, and my pussy got wonderfully massaged via two hands up my skirt.

Around 20 minutes later when I was taking a break in the kitchen, cooling down from all the groping going on under my skirt, Byron came in again. He had a little menu and he gave it to me, “Just in case you would like some extra money. All of this is optional. Also, Mike called, and he is finally able to come and will be here in around 20 minutes. He told me he is looking forward to meeting you.” I’ll bet he is, I thought to myself. Why not be enthusiastic about the new hussy the men had lured into their den of iniquity?

I looked at the menu. It read like this:

Tip Schedule

Remove hose: $100

Remove blouse: $500

Remove skirt: $500

Remove bra: $700

Remove panties: $800

Become naked: Extra $200 beyond the above tips

Adding it up, I could earn $2700 by removing all of my clothes, plus the now $300 or so already in the tip jar. My blouse of course was gone, so I already had $800. That was plenty.

I got greedy. Men’s hands were constantly under my skirt so it was not providing me any protection in any event. I would remove my thigh highs, and my skirt, giving me another $600, and I would have around $1400. I would keep my underwear on, always. I did not want to have my picture up on Byron’s fridge door, next to Kathy’s!

This would be exhibitionism only. No sex, except for what was already going on via the men feeling me up. I removed my hose and my skirt, and stood trembling in the kitchen, waiting to be called back. I made myself a mojito and a few other drinks on speculation, just to keep busy, and to stop myself from nervously shivering.. When Byron called for me to stand next to Bill, I entered with my tray of drinks.

As I entered, now wearing only my bra and panties, the place became pandemonium. The men cheered so uproariously that I was actually flattered, and I blushed. I could not take a bow, due to the tray of drinks in front of me. But I gave them a broad and sincere smile. There was a prolonged applause, as the men drank in the view of their suggestively attired hostess, wearing only skimpy underwear.

A bonus was that I was no longer suffering from the excessive heat in the apartment. As I stood next to Bill, it quickly became clear what a gross miscalculation I had made. Now that my skirt was gone, men’s hands no longer had to creep up my thighs to ‘secretly’ massage my pussy. The men’s hands went directly to my panties, and entered from the top.

Bill stuck his hands into the front of my panties, and Craig, who was on the other side of me, also stuck his hands down my panties from the rear, to massage my ass. Doing so, the pressure and weight of their hands ‘inadvertently’ pushed my panties down almost to the point where my pussy was exposed.

By the time they were done with me, I had finished my mojito, they had finished their drinks, and Bill had won a streak of hands and was flush again. My panties were scrunched up and barely staying on my hips. One more push and they would have been down at my ankles.

I beat a quick retreat to the kitchen and pulled my panties back up. I had to assess the situation. I had almost cum from the manipulations of the two men. This was getting out of control. I made myself another mojito and quickly drank it. It helped.

As my mind wandered, I began to think about how strange it was that whenever I stood next to a man he would win a long streak of hands. I was never good at math, but since this had happened every single time all evening, one either had to believe I was the incarnation of the angel of good fortune, or that Byron had arranged things that way.

I began to realize this was all a set-up, an elaborate seduction technique. It was an excuse to leer over a ‘hostess,’ and to see how far they could go. It was a game, and I was the innocent, and until just now ignorant, pawn. The bait was money, of course, and I had fallen for it, hook, line, all my clothes, and sinker.

But now I had the $1400 already calculated, plus around $400 more in the tips jar, for $1800. The panties were not really protecting me, and if they went off I would have another $800, and then I might as well go for the gold, and go naked, and that would mean I would have another $900 to add to that, so the total for the night would be $3,500. Holy shit! That was a hell of a lot of money!

What were the down sides? My picture would be on Byron’s fridge in my naked glory. Hell, he was already going to put me up there just in my bra and panties. But the big downside was that I did not know how exactly it would happen, but going naked would undoubtedly up the ante and changed the men’s behavior. It would change again the way in which the men were feeling me up.

They would be much more aggressive, surely. Could I deal with that? Could I deal with the hands of five men, six when the mysterious Mike showed up, feeling me up, pawing my body, turning me on?

Some girls would be grossed out. Most would, I’m sure. But I have an exhibitionist weakness first of all, and second, the idea of five or six men lusting for me, little old me, I don’t know, but I admit it: It excited me. And, there’s the money. Ah, the money. Steak dinners, good red wine, maybe even a Broadway play?

Byron called me back. Neil needed my luck. Yuck; not Kathy’s boyfriend? Well, Kathy must have known this would happen. I took a deep breath. Stark naked, wearing only my silver cross that was dangling between my boobs, I entered the room. Not surprisingly, the room exploded. I got wolf whistles, cheers, applause, and Byron even played a trumpet fanfare on his stereo system he had keyed up just for this occasion, should it arise.

I guess he knew it would arise. Byron was a judge of people, and after around 20 minutes, he had me figured out. He played everything perfectly, and now he had what he wanted: A sexy young woman naked in his lair of lecherous young men. By young, I mean 20 something and 30 something. I guess that’s in-between young and middle aged, but it does not have a name. ‘Men on the make’ might be a good name.

I was flattered too that they had used such an elaborate ruse as this fake card game in order to get me naked. I felt as if I were the victim in an off-off Broadway sex comedy. When the jubilation scene calmed down, and everyone had absorbed the view to their heart’s content, I took my place next to Neil.

All my charms were on display. My boobs are not big, but they’re not small, either. They are rather pert, with just a little sag. I have large areolas, which are a pretty shade of reddish pink, and big nipples that stick out prominently when they are hard. They were not hard.

My pussy is shaved, but I have what men call a “landing strip.” Modesty aside, I have a great body. I’m a little thin, but I have great curves, with a very tiny waist. I have a silver button in my belly button, too, just for fun. Now the men could see that.

Neil reached up and caressed my boobs for a while, tweaking my nipples until they were hard. His hands finally left my boobs and one caressed my ass, while the other went right for my snatch. He had one finger, then two, and when he placed three fingers inside me and started to pump, I realized I had to escape: my knees were getting weak from the arousal.

Just then, while Neil was fingering me, the door opened and the mysterious Mike finally made his grand appearance. He was by far the most handsome, the most debonair, and probably the richest of the men. I know, because he was not just another lecherous man to join the group, he was my ex-husband Mike.

Mike saw me naked, trying to remain standing next to Neil, as he furiously fingered me in front of the four other men, all of whom were intently watching me getting hopelessly aroused right in front of them.

Trust me, this is not the way you want your ex-husband to see you for the first time since the divorce. The divorce was amicable. Mike and I still love each other, I’m sure, but Mike was turning me into a slut, and I felt I needed to save myself. I asked for nothing, and got nothing, so there was nothing to fight about.

I don’t know what thoughts went through Mike’s head just then. I had left him because his domination over my submissive nature had me sleeping with other men to please him. Now here I was and of my own accord I was naked in a room of five lecherous men, all of them his friends. He must have thought: She left me so that she could do stuff like this?

I screamed when I saw Mike and ran to the kitchen and closed the door. My clothes had been removed from where I had left them, folded in a corner. Byron is one clever little bastard, I silently thought. I found an apron and put it on; it covered my pussy at least. My ass of course was still bare, and my boobs were still hanging out enjoying the warm air.

I made another mojito and quickly drank it. I was already drunk, but somehow the idea of a drink appealed to me just then. I was not sure why, but probably I just wanted to numb the pain of Mike seeing me like that.

Mike came into the kitchen. He was smiling. He took me in his arms, and he caressed my hair just as he always used to do when I was upset. He pulled me into his warm, muscular, reassuring body. Mike could always make everything right. He had his usual smell.

I was crying and getting his shirt wet as I leaned into his broad, reassuring chest. He put his hand under my chin just as he always used to do, and he titled my head towards his, and he kissed me delicately, with the gentleness of a man who loved this little, fragile being. I melted.

He held me like that, his rough, calloused hand on my smooth, bare ass, his other hand caressing my boobs, as we kissed. Our mouths opened and our tongues danced with each other. I fell head over heels in love with him just then all over again. Shit, I had never stopped loving him. I gave myself to him just then completely, as I had over and over again, so many times before.

Mike was mine again. More importantly I was his. I had known this would happen if ever I saw him again, and that was why I had been studiously avoiding him. Had I known the sixth man, Mike, was my very own Mike, I never would have agreed to have been the ‘hostess’ for the card game.

But it was too late now. Mike was here, and his magical hold over me had resurfaced, and I was willing to be, and completely was, within his power. I was bubbling over with love for him., and I was ready to follow his every command. I shuttered as I realized what those commands might be. Would probably be. Oh, my.

I was calm now. I knew what to do: I was to do as my master commanded. Mike and I walked back into the room of the card game together, hand in hand, to a round of enthusiastic applause. I bowed, and swung my boobs for the men as I was bent over. All my fear had left. Mike was to worry for both of us. Subtlety was lost, since Mike was carrying ostentatiously the pile of condoms.

Neil was texting furiously, and he announced that Melissa was returning soon. Good, I thought. Maybe she can take care of some of the men. Byron asked if I would be so kind as to make another round of drinks for the men. I went around the table and asked for each man’s order, beginning with Byron. As Byron reflected on what he wanted, he began to feel me up, both my boobs and my pussy. I looked at Mike, and he nodded to let Byron continue.

Byron stretched it out, pretending to be indecisive, but of course in reality he was just giving his fingers more time to explore more thoroughly the mysteries of the folds of my vagina, and the sweet wetness of my vaginal canal. He pumped his fingers in me for a few minutes until my breathing got heavy, and then he flamboyantly decided on a Sex on the Beach.

I then moved on to Craig. He mimicked Byron, and everyone’s hands were getting to know my pussy on a rather intimate basis. Craig drove me to the edge before finally deciding on a whisky sour.

I lost it with Bill. I had already been driven close to orgasm by the situation, having Mike watch all this (which turned me on something fierce), and simply by the stimulation of all the fingers. When Bill’s fingers entered me, it was just too much. My knees were already giving out, and I was wobbly on my feet.

I sank to the floor. Somehow this was interpreted as my total submission, even if it was only a near physical impossibility to remain standing, since I was so turned on. But to have a sexy woman, naked, let you finger her, and then to sink to the floor, groaning, was an invitation to these men that could not be passed up.

Bill undressed, got on the ground, and began to kiss me. He pushed me gently frfom my sitting position so that I lay down on the rug, and he got on top of me. As he pushed my legs apart, I looked at Mike. He nodded, so my legs parted easily, offering no resistance to Bill’s gentle pushes. Mike handed Bill a condom.

Bill put on the condom as I watched. Nobody in the room had to wonder why he was putting on a condom, and sure enough he wasted no time. His cock entered me and it was happening again. Under Mike’s careful supervision, I was letting a stranger fuck me again. God, it felt good. I knew I was doing it for Mike, and that made it okay.

I got into it, and I moaned. When Bill fucked me nicely, I moaned louder, and when he did things I liked less, I moaned softer. Bill didn’t care. He was not trying to please me, he just wanted to conquer me. I was a woman, and he wanted to fuck that woman, to shoot his load inside her. It was that simple for this misogynist moron.

Well, his loss. I was a great fuck; lord knows, I had had enough practice just during my times with Mike. And I had not exactly been a nun before I had met Mike: far from it. Bill had no idea how good I could be, and by his actions, he was missing out.

Not that he wasn’t enjoying it! He loved getting to fuck this new sexpot. Men are not like women: he did not care that he had just met me. He did not feel like a slut for fucking me. He did not think less of himself for having such casual sex; if anything, he felt more of himself. He was macho man, laying yet another sexy woman.

After Bill shot his load in me, he kissed me and fondled my boobs some more, then kissed me again. Clearly he was thrilled. I could not wait to get out from underneath him.

The best thing about Byron, to my mind, was his large “Dump Trump” sign hanging on the back wall over the bed in his bedroom. Good for him, I thought, as Byron and Mike led me to the bed and then installed the constraints, leaving me immobile, spread eagled on the bed.

Byron was first, and then all the rest of the three men took me, one after the other, as I lay there helpless, accepting their cocks into my pussy. Before each man entered me, I looked at Mike, and he nodded. This gave me an illusion of control, and it absolved me of any responsibility. Mike was in charge: I did as he wanted.

They all used condoms, so at least I did not have five loads of cum inside me. They had the usual nice variety of cocks. Big, small, thin, and thick. It made me think of my wedding vows: through thickness and thin, good health and poor health… But now it was cocks, not wedding vows. Oh, how far have I sunk?

Slut that I am, I enjoyed every fuck. My pussy had been aching for cock when Bill had entered me. I had been teased for just too long, and I had been chaste since the divorce, so I was good and horny. Bill’s fuck was nice, but he did not last long, and I wanted more. Usually us girls just let the feeling of a desire for more pass, and it does, and we remember how nice it felt when it was happening. But now I was getting more, and more, and more, big time!

After each cock exploded inside me, another one would enter. They became divorced from their owners, it became, for me, just one long, never ending, wonderful fuck. I knew of course that all these men were fucking me, and as much as it horrified me, it also turned me on immensely. It was not my fault: I was submitting to Mike’s strong will. I had no choice.

Mike had yet to enjoy my charms. He was saving his time with me for last. He removed the bonds, put me on all fours, and Mike did not use a condom. That was not his style. Byron got in front of me, and Neil slid underneath me.

Mike eased himself into my pussy, holding my hips with his large, strong, rough hands. Electricity jolts ran through my body as I finally felt Mike’s cock inside me once again. If the world had ended just then, I would have gone happy.

All those men fucking me for their own misogynist reasons were just warm up acts for my perverted lover, who now - after having watched his small, fragile, woman get ravished repeatedly and without mercy - had a rock-hard cock and an erection any man would love to have had.

Feeling that wonderful cock inside me, the cock of the man I loved and adored and who, in his own sick way, loved and adored me too, was what I craved. It was what I needed. And just then, it was what I had. Ah. Heaven had come.

“Suck Byron, sweetheart,” Mike said, as he gently pumped his cock inside me. Byron was hard again and waving his cock in my face, so I took it into my mouth. My boobs hung down below me as I serviced both Mike and Byron, and Neil played with them and fondled them as the other three of us went at it.

I was noisy as I always am when Mike fucks me, but my noise was diminished by having Byron’s cock in my mouth. But I’m sure Mike still heard my muffled moans. I had to focus, because the sensations from Mike’s cock, which was now screwing me, were so intense that I was constantly at risk of forgetting about Byron’s cock in my mouth.

I focused so hard on Byron that he was the first to cum. He shot his load into my mouth, which did not surprise me. It was consistent with my image of these men as pigs, at least when it came to sex. I swallowed some of it, but a fair amount escaped and dripped down onto Neil underneath me. Neil said, “You can lick it off me later, darling.”

Mike was now fucking me so intensely it was hard for me to speak. I was moaning up a storm. But I did manage to say, albiet barely, “My name is Gail.”

Neil replied, chuckling as he spoke, “Sure it is, darling. I knew that. You are one fine woman, darling, and boy did I enjoy fucking you.”

“Thank you, Neil. I’m glad you enjoyed my charms. Should I tell Kathy that was your way of asking me to send her your love?” As I spoke the word love, Mike did his special trick with his cock, the one I love most of all, and at that moment I could hold back no longer. I exploded in a massive orgasm, screaming “Oh my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Holy Mary, mother of Jesus!”

I fell onto my stomach, right onto Neil, crushing my boobs on his hairy chest, sloppy with Byron’s cum. Mike rolled me over onto my back. He reinstalled the constraints, and then resumed fucking me, now brutally, until he came. I loved every single second of it, and whimpered as he did me, in my post orgasmic bliss.

Mike got off me, my cunt filled with his cum, and his alone. That is when I noticed Michelle. She was naked, standing by the bed, grinning malevolently at me. Her nipples were pierced, and a large gold chain hung from one nipple to the other.

Michelle lay on the bed and began to eat me. I looked at Mike. I was not into this, but Michelle clearly was. Mike nodded to me, his way of telling me to go with the flow. Anyway, I was immobilized, and had little choice, other than verbal protest. But Mike wanted it, so I went with the flow.

I have to admit it, Michelle knew how to eat out a girl. She was magnificent, and I was moaning up a storm. However shortly after Michelle started eating me, Neil lifted up her ass and tried to stick his cock into her pussy, to fuck her as she ate me out.

She was furious. She turned around and began to hit him, screaming at him. She had the filthiest mouth I had ever heard on a woman. Mike used the distraction to free me from the constraints. He had retrieved my clothes from wherever Byron had hid them, and I quickly got dressed.

Byron gave me my $3500, plus an extra $5000 tip for having fucked the five of them. He did not tip me for having fucked Mike, once he learned Mike was my ex. I had a tidy sum of $8,500 to pocket, tax free. The cost was high, however: all the hard work I had done to escape from the magic pull Mike had over me had now been undone. It had been undone in a rather spectacular manner.

As Mike and I left, Michelle was still screaming at Neil, as he chased her around the apartment. I said to Mike, “I’m afraid Neil is going to rape that girl. Should we call the police?”

Mike said, “Gail, she got naked in a room full of six men who were fucking a woman bound and constrained, one after the other. What do you expect she thought, and even wanted, to happen to her?”

“Mike, it was not ‘a woman’ in those constraints. It was me, Gail, THE woman you love. Regardless of how reckless Michelle might have been, or what she wanted previously, she clearly had changed her mind! We have to do something,” I said, pleading with my voice. “If you save her, I’ll fuck you again, you big hunk.”

“You’ll fuck me anyway, Gail, and you know it,” Mike said.

“I’ll fuck you on the subway. How’s that?” I knew Mike had always wanted that, but I had always refused.

That last remark stopped Mike in his tracks, and we went back to Byron’s. Michelle was on the floor, underneath Neil, moaning and saying, “Oh yes, lover. I so, so love the way you fuck me. You are so good. It’s so hot with everyone watching. Oh, yes! Oh, my God!”

Apparently the ‘resistance’ had been foreplay. We had returned just in time to see Michelle climax. “You bastard,” I said to Mike. “You’ve seen this before. You knew it was all foreplay!”

Mike looked at me. He smiled, and he said, “I’ll pick you up at 8pm tomorrow. We’ll go someplace nice for dinner. For after dinner, I’ll bring the subway cards.”